


Timothy Stoner, More Like

by awfuldaycupcake



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, i rlly just love writing stoned characters i think i see a pattern, spoilers up through season 4, stoner!tim, tim-centeric, tw for drug use, tw for minor character death (danny stoker), tw for minor suicidal thoughts, web!tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awfuldaycupcake/pseuds/awfuldaycupcake
Summary: Five times Tim Stoker gets high to hide his emotions, and one time he doesn't have to.
Kudos: 14





	1. August, 2013

Tim didn’t  _ smoke. _

Really, he didn’t. Cigarettes had this awful stench to ‘em he couldn’t really shake, and they reminded him too much of his dad for him to ever really go reaching for one. And like, his lungs were  _ important  _ to him. And! How was he supposed to use his everpresent charm without his lucious voice? 

Tim knew he had a lot going for him. And like, he wasn’t  _ Danny _ quite, but sure, he had a fine sense of humor and the ladies and gents he went for seemed to find him attractive enough. So no, there was no real despair in his life he felt he needed to smoke away, and as he hadn’t gone and got addicted earlier in life, there wasn’t that influence either. 

So. When he found himself staring unblinkingly at a lighter, it wasn’t as  _ natural  _ a progression as one might suspect.

Besides, it wasn’t tobacco he had wrapped loosely in the rolling paper. One whiff of it would tell you that. No, Tim thought, a little nicotine buzz  _ really _ wasn’t going to cut it.

He had just seen the most horrific sight of his life.

Mind you, Tim didn’t  _ cry _ , either. Not normally. And not out of some toxic masculinity bullshit, no. He really wished he could cry easier, actually. Really let himself loose. But, at this moment, he didn’t even spare  _ that _ a second thought.

No. Here, he didn’t even realize there were tears slowly tracking down his face. Here, he didn’t realize that the wind was whipping gently at his hair, a slight shiver running down his spine. It was as if he was as numb physically as he was emotionally. 

He was shaking, pretty badly actually. He kept flicking the  [ spiderweb ](https://www.amazon.com/WUTMVING-Rechargeable-Cigarette-Electronic-Backpacking/dp/B089LHXNL8/ref=sr_1_31?dchild=1&keywords=spider+web+lighter&qid=1595203865&sr=8-31) electric lighter, watching as the spark clicked and no flame lit. Was it because of the wind? Or could he just not keep his hands still enough?

If he let his thoughts linger for a  _ second, _ even a measly second, it was over. He was back in front of that stage, watching that…  _ thing _ that was pretending to be his brother peel off Danny’s skin, revealing some sort of fucking Freak of a clown. A fucking freak! 

Whatever that  _ thing _ was, it had took his brother. It took  _ Danny.  _

Tim became faintly aware that his breath was coming in short spurts now, and he was almost hyperventilating here, on the roof of his apartment complex. With one final desperate attempt, he clicked the lighter with his left hand, sheltering the joint from the wind with his right. When it took flame, Tim choked back a sob, drawing instead a deep pull of cheap weed in his lungs. 

It didn’t hit instantly, of course. Not that Tim would know. He’d never smoked before, never even thought about it. But leaving that hell-hole of “The Circus of the Other,” he dialled one of his sketchier exes, bothering him for weed and offering to pay whatever was necessary. He just wanted to  _ forget _ . 

And besides, Tim was always a bit of a retrospective and sad drunk, so drinking obviously wasn’t the answer.

He breathed out, watching the swirling smoke rise from his own lips into the dark of the night. He kicked his legs absentmindedly from where he sat, over the ledge of the roof, staring at the ground below.

A troubling thought passed through his mind, and he pulled his legs up the side and into his chest.

No. Danny wouldn’t’ve wanted that.

He took a deep breath, lighting the joint again, taking another pull. 

After about five minutes of this, his head began to feel a little tingly. And it was almost like his heart was physically heavy in his chest, a weight pushing down towards the bottom of his ribcage. Tim scooted away from the building’s edge, opting instead to sit closer to the stairway that lead down towards his flat. 

Impulsively, he laid down, then, just… staring off into space. Trying not to think too much, to focus on the noise of the city and the physical sensations he’d never experienced before. 

He had the foggy thought that his body was a pinball machine, and that energy was simply bouncing through it, currents and electricity being the only thing keeping him tied together.

Tim shut his eyes, slowly, trying to really concentrate on that feeling. Like all he was was signals and wires. A machine. 

When he reopened his eyes, it was to the 7 o’clock sun, glaring down at him through a thick curtain of clouds. A scowl fell across his face, and Tim rubbed at his eyes in frustration.

No, then. Not a machine. 

Just another boy without a brother.

Tim stood up, opening the door to the stairwell and slowly making his way down. He still felt faintly high, and his mouth was as dry as a desert. Well. One way to fix that.

As Tim opened the door to his apartment, he made a beeline straight to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a tequila and tonic. 

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thx for reading! i already have ch2 written and will likely post soon, i just wanna give myself wiggle room to space them out lol. anyways i love tim stoker So Much and frankly i wish we knew more abt him. like for me at least the Danny thing came outta left field, but idk. anyhoo enjoy tim getting high and grieving bc i love angst ig ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. March, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim meets Elias. Surely, that's enough reason to relapse.

Another dead end. Well. Isn’t that just fucking  _ spectacular. _

He crumpled the advert he held for the most recent circus he’d checked, somewhere in South East London. It wasn’t  _ actually _ a circus-- it was an aerial ballet-- so he probably should’ve expected this. 

Besides, people in Bromley tended to be either retirees or filthy rich, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that the show wasn’t the strange, skin-peeling type that  _ took _ Danny away from him.

It had taken a few months, a few phone calls to his parents, and one or two therapy sessions, but Tim had finally stopped blaming himself for what happened to Danny. Thoughts of “ _ If I’d just--”  _ and  _ “If I would have--”  _ weren’t helping anybody, he’d realized. In fact, they were an active detriment to what should have been his goal from day one: avenging his brother from the  _ freaks _ that took him.

Besides. He’d honestly dealt with a good deal of drug use to come to that conclusion, and he wasn’t going to reconsider it now.

Tim’s outfit was earning him a few stares through the busy street as he walked, the advert for the circus still crumpled in his hand. He knew he dressed kind of odd, all colourful button-ups with cuffs, and usually mismatched earrings. He liked catching eyes, though. Something about it was comforting, in a way.

As he continued his way through Bromley towards the tube, he stopped. A grimace fell over his face. There, across a busy pavement next to a buisier road, was a finely-weaved silver spiderweb. 

Tim gave a glance around. He’d  _ just _ seen a woman pass through this exact area-- why hadn’t she broken the web? That’s not how spiderwebs work, right? 

Right?

Tim turned his head, tracing the web from the side of a postbox to the pillar of a fairly large beige building. There were a few pillars outside, marking the architecture as something relatively similar to Greek, Tim noted. The building’s name stood out in large letters, imprinted directly above the pillars:  _ The Magnus Institute _ .

Tim didn’t know what compelled him to walk forwards, then. He didn’t have any other plans for today or anything, so it wasn’t like he was in a hurry to get home and sulk. And something about this building just…  _ pulled _ him in. He couldn’t put words to it.

He walked in to find a relatively spacious front room, combined with shelves and dim yellow lighting.  _ Ah, _ he’d thought.  _ So a library, then? _

There was a woman at the front desk. An older lady, by the looks of it. She offered Tim a smile of greeting as he stepped through the door.

“Hello, dear,” she said. peering at him over her thick-rimmed glasses. “Anything you’re looking for today?”

“What is this place?” Tim found himself asking. It wasn’t even like he’d made the executive decision to say that, he just. Did. It was like his lips were moving against his own volition. Huh. Odd.

“We’re the Magnus Insitute, I’m sure you’ve heard,” the woman said. Her nametag read  _ Rosie _ in a small gold font. “We provide a library for the supernatural to those with proper clearances, for scholarly things and the like. Mind, we can’t let everyone browse the shelves without proper credentials. It is a private institution, and as such we find ourselves limited to--”

“How do I get in?” Tim asked. Again, not thinking. He  _ needed _ in. He needed answers. Now more than ever he was convinced he needed to be there-- that whatever had pulled him in to this place was pushing him towards his  _ goal. _ Towards  _ Danny. _

Or. Well. _Avenging_ Danny, then.

“We only let staff and those with credentials--” Rosie began. She was interrupted this time by the doors on their left opening, with almost a dramatic cadence.

The man who stood there had light gray hair that had clearly once been blonde. He was wearing a three-piece suit-- Tim couldn’t imagine why-- and he carried himself with an air of superiority. As his head turned to face him, Tim realized he was wearing one dangling earring of an eye. 

Tim felt his hand reach up to his own mismatched earrings, realizing the pair he’d picked today. One, a dangling lemon that nearly fell to his shoulder. The other, a small stud in the shape of an open eye. 

The man smiled at him. It was a crooked smile, almost like a predator staring down its prey. Tim was frozen in his spot.

“Ah,” the man said, offering Tim another unsettling smile.”I presume you’re here for the job interview, yes?”

A thousand thoughts scattered through Tim’s mind at once. In a moment of coherency, he quickly listed those thoughts to himself.

Firstly: Someone was supposed to be interviewing today, obviously, and the man had assumed that person was Tim. Secondly: He needed access to this library. He  _ needed _ it. From the looks of it, they’d been collecting information for ages, and to be able to find something? It could give him the leg up on what he needed to finally break the case of where those circus bastards were. Thirdly: If he worked there, he would have access to that library. He’d be able to see what they had.

And besides. If he hated it, he could always quit, right?

“Yep,” Tim said, an easily-faked smile falling over his face. “That’s me.”

* * *

He learned pretty quickly that working in Research wasn’t going to be too bad of a gig. It paid well enough, he supposed, and his bachelor’s in Management from a party school in Sussex wasn’t proving much worth to him up till now. So really, what was the harm? He’d research some kooky ghost stories during the day, and take out as many books regarding circuses and supernatural happenings as he could by nightfall. It would be  _ fine. _

And this creepy “Elias” guy wouldn’t be an issue. He  _ couldn’t.  _ It didn’t matter either way. What matters is that he finds out as much as he can as  _ quickly _ as he can.

He didn’t really have anything to lose, did he?

As he was walking back from the Instiute that day, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Like there were eyes on the back of his neck. And again, he was pretty used to being gawked at, dressing like he does. But he kept turning, expecting to see some poor sap awkwardly glancing away, but… There was no one there. There wasn’t anyone  _ there _ .

His brain began working on overdrive. Paranoia seeped into every footstep as he made his way down the stairway to the Underground, his heart hammering in his chest.

This was the first lead that seemed fruitful in any way since the--

Since--

He couldn’t think of it. And there were so many  _ eyes  _ on him.

When he returned to his flat, for the first time in a while he didn’t feel safe there. It was so easy, usually, to just take a load off and flop on the sofa, but here? Now? For whatever reason, Tim couldn’t shake that  _ watched  _ feeling.

He fumbled through his drawers, pulling out that damned spiderweb lighter again. He stared at it, for just a moment, before deciding  _ fuck it _ and pulling out a small glass jar he’d kept hidden under his socks.

It was nearing nighttime. There was a small park, a couple blocks from his flat, that no one spent too much time at. It was less of a  _ park _ , really, and more of an abandoned lot? If he was being honest? But it had a willow tree, one with enough coverage he could duck under it and not be seen. 

Even when he hid there, he knew he was being watched. The feeling of eyes on his neck didn’t go away.

Instead he opened the glass jar, pulling out a small metal herb grinder from his bag. He took a piece out of the glass, resituating it into the grinder, and pivoting it slowly in his hand.

It was a small grinder, probably two or three centimeters, and it was cold to the touch. He faintly saw his own reflection on the surface, and had to stop a second before resuming. He’d looked… scared.

He took the ground weed out, gently setting it into a small bowl he’d bought himself a while back. 

This wasn’t his first time smoking since his-- well, since his first time smoking. No, he’d uh, hit it rather hard for a few weeks. But, with insistence from a few of his friends, he’d tried to mellow it back to twice a day, to eventually once, to once a week, to well-- never, really.

But here he was, hidden under the Willow tree, his polka-dotted glass bowl to his lips once again. He shook off the thought, bringing the spiderweb lighter to the bowl with a  _ click. _ It lit easily enough, and Tim took a deep drag, loving the slight burn of fire in his throat. 

It was like a crackling flame was in his mouth, he thought faintly. It was like he was in control of things, for just this minute. He could appreciate things, when he got high, in a way he couldn’t sober. He could see the little minute of the world  _ differently _ .

For instance-- there was a spider crawling up his leg. Usually he’d be pretty freaked out at that. Not too terrible. He wasn’t a scardey-cat or anything, and spiders were pretty far from his deepest fears (Clowns now being one of them.) But still. Bugs were usually labelled as  _ gross _ in his brain and left alone.

But here? Now? This spider had a  _ life.  _ It had eight little eyes, that if he focused enough he could just make out over the fuzzy gray of its fur. It was like a puppy, he thought absentmindedly, but smaller. More eyes, more legs. But still fluffy, still cute. \

He didn’t know why he didn’t like spiders. Maybe Sober-Tim should reconsider that.

He moved the  [ pipe ](https://www.dhgate.com/product/about-4-quot-inch-glass-tobacco-pipe-tobacco/546973772.html?skuid=730969671494045696#s1-3-1b;srp%7C3094021557) to his lips, ready to take another drag, when something stopped him. He pulled the bowl away from his face, narrowing his eyes at the polka-dots on its surface.

It was a fairly nice piece. He’d bought it downtown in some cigarette store, and it was a deep blue with white circles dotting it, almost like stars. He’d impulse bought it while high, of course, which shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

But this time, as he stared at it, seconds away from lighting his lighter, he realized something.

The white circles lining the stem weren’t just circles, but dozens of tiny eyes. Staring.  _ Staring _ . 

It took all of Tim’s self-control not to drop the bowl right there, right then. He took another shaky drag, putting the excess right back in the grinder. He stook up shakily, looking back at the bowl.

It was just polka dots.

Right.

It was just polka-dots, and he’d been imagining it, because he’s high again. He’s paranoid.

Dammit. He’d told people he wouldn’t do this again, he wouldn’t--

Tim shoved the bowl back into the bag, forcing himself to get up and walk to his apartment.

_ That _ was a revelation he’d have to deal with on another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! honestly im just writing this bc i love writing high characters and i'm in love with tim stoker. also, my love of hyphens and italics rlly pops off in this one huh? anyways leave a kudos or comment, i'll be back tomorrow with more <3


	3. December 2015 - January 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim really gets to know Sasha.

Tim woke up that morning in a foreign bed with a hammering headache and a sick feeling in his stomach. And, notably, no memory of the night before.

He usually wasn’t a blackout. He did recall leaving to go to an office Christmas party with a few of his mates, and he remembered meeting that one girl from Artefact Storage for pregaming. She’d been into him, he knew that, but he wasn’t--

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . 

It took Tim a second to realize that no, this was not his bed, and no, it wasn’t one of his mates’ beds either. He wasn’t sure if that was a particularly good or bad thing-- for one, he didn’t want to sleep with one of his bros, that would for sure make things a little awkward, but if he wound up in a stranger’s bed, was that really any better?

At least he could deign himself the right to  _ remember _ the night, christ.

He rolled over, fully expecting to see the woman from Artefact Storage. It would make the most sense, given what he did remember. Although, he realized with a halt, the bed was empty on the other side.

He checked under the covers-- yep, fully nude-- before standing up slowly. He picked his jeans up off the floor, shucking them on his legs. As he did up the belt buckle, he realized with a grimace that his shirt wasn’t on the ground with them. Christ. Did he take off his shirt in the other room? Had he really been that desperate?

There was an oversized jumper on the floor, which he picked up slowly. It had… huh. It had a cobweb on it. Well, Tim couldn’t really judge not keeping the flat too tidy. He’d be a massive hypocrite.

This had to be that girl’s. What was her name, Sasha? Something like that. He slid the sweater over his head, deciding that if he ran into her while looking for his own shirt, he’d rather not be topless, thank you very much.

As he entered the hallway of the little flat, the smell of bacon hit him in the face like a brick wall. Ah, shit. He really  _ was _ that hungover, wasn’t he. Tinny music was coming from a speaker on the countertop. He spotted Sasha, wearing--

Wait. She was wearing his button-down, standing over the frying pan in shorts, singing along to whatever song was playing on the radio. She turned, probably to grab a spice of some sort, and smiled at how quite  _ lost _ Tim himself looked.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Stoker,” she said, offering him a small grin. 

And Tim was in love instantly.

Mind you, Tim found himself falling in love quite a lot. He was in love with all of his friends, for one, as well as a list of other neighbors and coworkers he barely knew. All it took was one good joke, honestly, and Tim found himself ready to die for you. It didn’t take a lot.

But here was Sasha, wearing his shirt and sassing him, making him breakfast after a night he didn’t even remember.  _ Christ. _

Tim offered her a small smile, grabbing a seat on one of the barstools in front of her counter. “I’ve gotta admit, I can’t recall a single thing about yesterday. So, uh, sorry about that,” he muttered out. She offered a chuckle, passing him a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Me neither. Little too much boozing, it would seem. Bacon’s almost ready if you’re patient,” she said. 

Huh. So here he was, sitting in Sasha’s kitchen, probably after a night of weird sex, and neither of them could remember a thing. Interesting.

“Do you at least remember talking to Jon?” She asked after a moment. She put some of the bacon on his plate with a smile, plating her own. She sat next to him, taking a bite.

“Uh, who’s Jon?” Tim said through a mouthful of eggs. Sasha sighed.

“You work with him, stupid. In Research? He was talking about wanting to work in the Archives, said you’d make a good assistant. You laughed in his face.”

Tim nodded, taking a bite of the bacon. God, he’d never loved greasy food so much. “Yeah, that sounds like me alright. Imagine me, being an  _ assistant, _ ” he said. Sasha rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Besides, Jon and I have our eyes on the same position, after Gertrude retires. I don’t think Jonny has quite the cut-throat tenacity needed, though. I, for one, could kick a filing cabinet in the  _ ass _ and it would thank  _ me. _ ”

Holy shit. Tim wasn’t kidding. He was in love with her.

They spent the majority of that Saturday together, just hanging out and getting rid of their mutual hangovers. Tim learned Sasha was looking to transfer to Research from Artefact Storage, as apparently there were a lot of things strange about that place. He learned that she grew up in Manchester, she had a family cat named Beanie, and she was considering moving to Brixton if she got that promotion she wanted.

She learned that Tim loved kayaking, that he dressed like an idiot on purpose, and that he often showered for upwards of 40 minutes.

He got a bit of a lecture on that one, but it was more banter than anything. It was… nice. They agreed to get lunch once a week and keep each other updated on the gossip.

As far as one night stands go, this one was pretty ace, if he did say so himself.

When he got home that night, Tim was almost  _ giddy. _ Making friends wasn’t something he did all too often. Sure, he had a few of the boys he’d hang around, mostly clerks and research assistants that liked to party a little too much. But to have someone to really talk to? About anything and everything? It was a miracle.

Things went on like that for a little while. Sasha would come over to his place every now and then, watch some shitty horror movies and talk shit on coworkers. It was a nice arrangement. Things were good.

Then, one day, she came over, unannounced. She was planning on showing him pictures of some weird meat grinder she’d been tasked with taking notes on, and the really strange vibes everyone kept giving off that day. As she pulled open the door, though, she was met with the sound of-- well, what was that sound, anyways?

She walked further into the flat to find Tim, knuckles bloody, glowering at a hole in the plaster of his wall. His  _ leased flat _ ’s wall.

“Tim,” she said, and his gaze shot to her face instantly. Sasha took a step back, her hands rising instinctively. “Breathe.”

“It’s not fair,” he muttered. That’s when Sasha noticed the red around his eyes, the tear tracks faintly reflective on his skin.

“Okay,” she said. Shit. Well, how does one deal with this. “Tim, grab a seat then, yeah?” 

Tim took a deep breath, falling back to sit on his bed. The room was sparsely decorated. In fact, Sasha had only been in his bedroom once or twice, as it was fairly unremarkable-- A double-sized bed with a blue comforter, a dresser, and a single lamp. No posters, no television, just a bed, a lamp, and now a fist-sized hole in the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Sasha asked. She set her work bag down, the one she’d carried in, and grabbed a seat adjacent from Tim. He rubbed his hands down his face, flinching at the bloody knuckles.

“I don’t wanna bother you with it,” Tim muttered. Sasha rolled her eyes.

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Tim. We both know there’s nothing that could surprise m--”

“I had a brother,” Tim interrupted. Sasha shut up quickly, eyeing him over.

“You  _ had _ ?”   


Tim swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Had. He got-- y’know, caught up in this supernatural  _ horseshit _ and I-- I don’t know. I’ve been trying to avenge him, I guess?”

He passed his phone to Sasha, a  [ sketch ](https://islingtonblogs.typepad.com/sadlers-wells-archive/2011/08/joseph-grimaldi-the-first-modern-clown.html) of a strange clown staring, upside-down into the screen. Sasha looked up at Tim, her confusion evident in her gaze. Tim sighed, clicking his phone off.

“I’ve checked every circus this side of London looking for that-- that  _ thing _ that took Danny, I don’t--” Tim took a rattling breath, closing his eyes. “This most recent one, it had that as it’s poster. I knew it was Grimaldi, I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t go, Sasha. I couldn’t bring myself to--” Tim was crying again. “Fuck.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Sasha said. Oh, boy. This wasn’t what she’d expected to find today, was it? “Listen, I’m sure if nothing else your brother wouldn’t have wanted you beating yourself up about it.”

Tim’s eyes flashed dark for a second, as he turned to look at Sasha. “How could you  _ possibly _ know what he would have wanted.”

There was a beat, then, where neither of them spoke. Sasha picked up her bag.

“Tim, I know you didn’t mean that. I know you’re hurting, and while you’re right, I couldn’t have known him, if we start a fight right now we both know that’ll make it worse. You need a healthier way to get out your anger that  _ isn’t _ picking fights with your friends.” She stood up, brushing herself off. It was weird. Whenever she was at Tim’s, she always found herself constantly surrounded by spiderwebs. “Take some time to process this, bandage up your fist, and call me if you really want to talk.”

Tim took a deep breath, watching as she left. 

Instantly, the second she was gone, he reached for his lighter.

He’d stopped going to the willow tree a while back. Something about the memories there were enough to keep him off of it, and besides. It wasn’t like he lived with other people. Wasn’t like his mum was going to yell at him for making the house stink.

He still had the polka-dot bowl that he used most of the time. He’d bought a bong a while back, but something about using it made him feel odd. Like he was doing this for the feelings it brought him and not for the thoughts it took away.

He’d already packed the bowl before he even really registered what he was doing. Tim looked down at the hash, his brain lost in his own thoughts.

He’d hurt Sasha. 

Maybe it was for the best she’d left. He really didn’t want her seeing him like this.

He lit the flame of his lighter with practiced ease. He hadn’t quit since the last time he’d tried to. To be fair, he didn’t think he wanted to, either.

As the high clouded his brain once again, he let his eyes slid shut. 

He texted Sasha later that night-- something incomprehensible along the lines of “i love you please don’t be angry.” She’d given him a call, then, and they’d talked through it, Tim trying his best to remain as composed as possible. Which, was to say, completely incoherent.

Sasha had come over, this time with a change of clothes and her toothbrush. Sometimes, you just needed someone there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways sometimes people need space, other times they need company. when you know someone so well, it's easy to tell the two apart. & i love that dynamic for tim and sasha <3
> 
> n e ways thanks for reading and ilysm


	4. July 2016 - August 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Prentiss.

Tim was tired.

God, Tim was  _ so  _ tired. 

He felt like every bone in his body was going to fall into a heap on the ground, crumbling into a  _ heap _ with nothing to hold them together. He could still  _ feel _ the worms, wriggling in his skin. He could still taste the brush of death.

Jane Prentiss had attacked yesterday. They’d loaded up on CO2, planned everything to a T, and yet Tim still felt horribly unprepared for when everything happened. And, to top it off, Sasha had been acting so strange since everything.

He needed to give her more time. Sure, she might not have had worms wriggling around inside of her, but it was still traumatic enough for everyone. 

He’d returned home, pacing the halls of his stupid little flat. He hated most things, in that moment. For one, he hated Jonathan Sims for trying to corner them and “give their statements” despite how exhausted they were. He hated Elias, for not listening to their concerns the first go around. He hated Ma--

Well, no, he didn’t really have a reason to hate Martin. And besides, even Jon had eased up on him since his flat was overtaken with worms a few weeks ago.

Anyways. He hated most things in that moment. And, more than anything, he hated being alone to deal with it.

Tim decided to give Sasha a ring. It was the day after everything happened, sure, but he figured that at least he could check up on her. Maybe spend the day with her. Y’know, shared trauma and everything.

His eyebrows knitted together. She didn’t pick up.

He texted her a brief “We should hang out :).” She didn’t respond.

Tim went back to pacing.

When Sasha did text back, it was about an hour later, and it just felt… weird.

Her tone in texting was pretty recognizable. She never capitalized anything, jokingly misspelled some of the most common words, and made a point to swear off emojis. It was a running argument they had; Tim jokingly ended things with a “uwu” more often than not.

Her text today, though, read: “Sorry, Timothy. I am busy today. I hope you understand. - Sasha”

Hey, what the fuck?

He texted her again, referencing one of their inside jokes, and her answer was just “:)”

Tim sighed, falling backwards onto his bed. Well, fuck. Maybe she was just being weird, or letting him know that she was there for him by taking his side in their joke argument. That was probably it. Still, it left Tim wondering why things felt so… off.

On a whim, he pulled up their photos together in his phone, scrolling through drunk selfies and silly photographs over the years. As time had passed, he grew to think of her as a sister. She was so important to him, and frankly, unforgettable.

He locked his phone, her image still echoing under his eyelids.

When everyone returned to work a couple weeks later, Tim added a new pen to his cup. This one, of course, wasn’t a pen in the sense that he wrote with it.

Getting high at work used to be kind of off limits for Tim, but with everything going on? Fuck it. It wasn’t like anything could stop him, could it. What was Elias going to do, fire him? Oh, wait.

So, yeah. As time passed, and the statements grew stupider, Tim took the dab pen from the cup and took a quick huff. If Sasha or Martin saw, neither of them were stupid enough to say anything.

That, or neither of them  _ cared _ . About the weed. About him. It didn’t matter.

A thin whif of white smoke rose from his lips, drifting lazily towards the ceiling. Sativa, of course. Didn’t want him falling asleep on the clock.

If Tim’s work was falling in quality, well. Jon didn’t say anything. 

And maybe it was the paranoia, but when Tim found a picture of his  _ home _ on Jon’s desk?

Well. It was safe to say being high at work wasn’t the  _ slightest _ of their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did yall listen to the new liveshow ep? bc any tim content gives me joy and hope in the world. yk, i didn't love him quite as much until my second listen through? anyways we love tim stoker bye


	5. February, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> s-... sasha :(

Sasha was dead.

Sasha was dead, and had been dead practically a  _ year _ now.

And no one had cared enough to tell him.

Sasha was dead, Jon was most likely a murderer, there were worms in the archives and corridors in the basement and strange yellow doors and--

_ Circuses. _

If Tim let himself down that spiral of thoughts, he’d never get out. Everything that had been happening lately was so overwhelming, so tense and fucking  _ creepy _ that Tim found himself angry and scared almost every second of the day.

He’d finally caved and got a membership to the gym he passed on the way to work in the mornings. It had helped, a little. It was good to take out that energy with legitimate exersize. That said, he hated the way it made his lungs feel. It was like they were clenching in his chest. Like they were disappointed in him.

Fuck, even his own organs were disappointed in him, huh. Figures.

He was sitting at his desk, watching Martin fiddle with the mug of tea he’d made for Jon about two hours ago. He’d been doing that regularly-- every day, right around noon, he’d make Jon a cup of tea and, seeing as Jon was a literal murderer and wouldn’t be coming back to work, the tea just sat there. And got cold.

Tim took his tea quite different than Jon, so there was a fat chance he’d take it. It was better to sit, stagnant, growing lukewarm on Martin’s desk. 

Tim preferred Teavana, usually something herbal and way too sweet. He’d quite taken a liking to mango peach hibiscus, recently. Jon, though, drank Twining’s Irish Breakfast, black. The bastard wouldn’t even eat digestives with it. Sometimes, when hours had passed and it really seemed like Jon wasn’t coming, Tim had spotted Martin adding a spoonful of honey, as if that would draw him out of whatever hiding place he’d gone to after. Y’know.  _ Murdering somebody. _ Christ.

Tim was trying to quit smoking again. It was the third time in as many months, and he was pretty sure he was  _ actually _ incapable of self-control. He’d tried almost everything, from journaling (which was kind of sappy and Tim absolutely hated it) to long walks and even going kayaking more. 

That always made him think of Danny, though, didn’t it.

What didn’t anymore.

Danny, or Sasha. The only two people he found he really wanted to be around, and they were both fucking  _ dead. _

“Well hello there, little fella,” Martin muttered. Tim glanced over, seeing a garden spider crawl up the sleeve of Martin’s wool jumper.

“If I never see another bug again, it will be too soon,” Tim said. Martin gave him a look of mock-shock, smiling after.

“Yeah, yeah. We both know you’ve got the same soft spot for spiders as me,” Martin said. “It’s not like it’s wor--”

“Anyways, I’m going on lunch,” Tim said, standing up from his desk. Martin chuckled, looking up at him.

“Are you  _ actually _ going on lunch, or will you walk back here smelling like skunk weed again?” Martin said. There was no malice in his tone, only a slight smile and some attempt at humor. Tim offered him a dull look.

“Judge me or don’t, pal. We’ve all gotta cope somehow.”

There was a pause, then, where Martin kind of looked over at him, as if contemplating something. Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Say, uh. How does it, um… How does it feel? I’m just curious,” Martin said, his cheeks heating up. Damn, that kid could blush like a firetruck.

“Uh-huh,” Tim said, a smirk falling over his face. “Sure. Listen, I’m not going to explain being high to you. Just ah-- give me a pen,” Tim said. Martin did so, looking over at him in confusion. 

Tim scrawled his address down. He hadn’t moved since-- well, since Danny, actually-- and the address was basically second-nature at this point. 

As he moved to say something, it was almost like the words poured out of his mouth like an open canteen. There was no real intent to say them, and while he could feel his lips moving, he wasn’t… consciously saying  _ anything. _

“Meet me there at 7, after work. Go home first, get some rest, and bring your favorite shitty horror movie.” 

\--

Sure enough, there was a knock at his door at exactly 7pm that night. Tim was wearing plaid pajamas and a Rowing Team shirt from his uni, and he’d already started making popcorn.

He had to keep reminding himself he wasn’t preparing this for Sasha. Sure, this is what they’d done together, about a year and a half ago, as a fairly regular routine. But now, she… She was gone. She’d  _ been _ gone. 

And Tim could sit in that. In fact, Tim desperately  _ wanted _ to sit in that. Just… stew in his emotions for a while. Never come out.

But Martin was here, now. And there would be plenty of time for sulking later.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Blackwood,” Tim said with a smile. 

“You told me 7. I’m here at 7,” Martin said. Tim paused, a second. Huh. Yeah, he was. Why did he feel the need to say that?

“It’s a joke, Martin, relax,” Tim said. 

Martin was… awkward at best, and when he entered Tim’s flat he looked as if he was here for business or professional things. He was so uptight, so nervous about everything. Tim couldn’t help but smirk. He’d kind of love to see Martin high, so. Tonight? Was going to be hilarious.

Now, when he’d told Martin to bring a horror movie, he was expecting something artsy like  _ Hereditary _ or  _ Midsommar. _ Some A24 bull for sure. But when he showed up with  [ The Widow’s Weave ](https://the-magnus-archives.fandom.com/wiki/MAG_110:_Creature_Feature) ? 

“Really?” Tim said, looking over the flick. “Spiders?”

“Oh, come on. They’re sweet,” Martin said. He was still standing there awkwardly in the doorway.

“Come in, grab a seat. You’re acting like a vampire, do I need to invite you in cordially?” Tim said. “Popcorn’s almost ready if you’re patient.”

Martin grabbed a seat with a small smile. He was being too polite. For whatever reason, it was making Tim uncomfortable.

After a couple moments of awkward small talk, Tim threw the movie into his XBox in the living room, the title screen lighting up with shitty echoing thunder. Tim couldn’t wait to make fun of this movie. 

They’d both seen the flick a few times, so eventually they began talking over it. Martin mentioned his love of spiders a few million times, and eventually Tim produced his spiderweb lighter, showing it to Martin with a smile.

Martin looked it over, slowly. “Jon had one just like this.”

Fuck. If that wasn’t a mood-killer.

Tim shrugged, passing the lighter to Martin. “Alright. Anyway. Are we smoking or what?”

Martin looked at him, clearly nervous, but Tim could see the excitement. Yeah. He wished he had that kind of relationship with smoking, just. Something fun, something social.

He’d switched to resin a couple months back. Wax just hit differently, stronger, and with the tolerance he’d been building up, it kind of seemed like the next logical step. That said, he wasn’t going to subject little weed virgin Martin Blackwood to that. That would be… something.

Tim pulled out the glass bong from under the coffeetable. It was a light pink, stripes of blue circling up the piece. He’d already put water in earlier, when he was making popcorn. Tim glanced over at Martin a couple times, just checking.

“Are we sure? Like, this isn’t an impulse thing, and I don’t want you to think--”

“Tim, honestly? Just found out my office crush might be a murderer, that Sasha’s dead, we got stuck together in a maze-ish hellscape for about a week… Like, need I go on? Honestly, I think I can handle a little pot.”

The certainty and determination with which Martin said that had Tim giggling. “Fuck, fine, okay. You might not feel it on the first time, it’s different for everyone. Besides, I picked up Indica because I knew it’d be getting late, so uh. You might get a little sleepy,” Tim said.

Martin shrugged. So, Tim pulled out his small metallic grinder, meshing together a couple different strains of street weed. Martin’s nose crinkled at the smell, and Tim had a bit of a laugh at that.

He kinda wished he could just… smoke as a fun thing, really. Just to enjoy it again, not to lean on it so heavily. There were so few things to enjoy these days.

Speaking of enjoying, the funniest thing in the world might be Martin Blackwood, staring at the bong as if it was some sort of alien object.

“H- How do I-” he stuttered out, staring at the glass in some weird confusion. Tim smiled.

“Alright, watch me,” Tim said. He took out the bowl, packing it gently, and gestured for the lighter. Martin handed it over wordlessly. Tim lit the corner, gently putting his lips inside the mouth.

He’d never really smoked  _ with  _ people before. It was a different feeling, being watched. Not like,  _ Watched _ watched, just… being observed. Studied. Learned from.

He pulled out the downstem, breathing deeply as he could. The water bubbled up, a white steam rising through the mouthpiece. Tim pulled away with a grin, letting the smoke rise from his lips as he did so.

It must’ve looked a little eerie, really, with the flashing spider movie in the background and smoke pooling from Tim’s lips. But in that second, all Martin could think about is that he wished he’d had this years earlier, back when the team had just moved to the archives. Back before… Well. Before everything went sour.

Tim handed him the bong, and Martin took it with a smile.  _ Dammit, Martin, had to go and make yourself sad again, didn’t you… _

“Alright, so you’re gonna wanna put it on the table, just to start. It’s easier than it looks, promise,” Tim said. He guided Martin’s hands to the table, moving to sit across from him. “Yeah. You wanna, uh, put your lips on the inside of it? Y-Yeah, like that. And breathe in when I light the lighter, okay?” 

Martin nodded best he could from his current position. Tim lit the lighter, and true to his word Martin breathed in. Tim nodded, pulling out the downstem, and as the white smoke rose…

Martin pulled away, coughing.

“Christ, Tim! You breathe that in  _ voluntarily? _ ” 

“You just did,” Tim reminded him with a smile.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know any better. Jeez, it’s like my throat’s on fire.”

“Let me get you something to drink. Tea? Lemonade? Or just water?” Tim said. He stood up, going through the fridge.

“Water’s fine, thank you,” Martin said. Tim sighed.

“You don’t have to be so polite, idiot,” Tim said, tossing him a plastic waterbottle. Martin flinched, missing it entirely. Of course he did.

“Sorry, it’s just… I don’t know. I’m always on eggshells,” Martin said. Tim stilled, moving to sit next to Martin on the couch again. The movie was over, but neither of them were really paying attention, anyway.

“Why are you--” Tim started, and just like that, Martin started to cry.

“Whoa, whoa,” Tim choked out, moving to pull Martin into a hug. “What’s wrong there, buddy?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just ah-- everything. Everything? Everything’s awful,” Martin said. “I’ve just resigned to being a disappointment at this point.”

“Martin, what?” Tim said. He heard Martin sniffle into his shirt, but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was so rare to see Martin, who was basically the Archive’s collective mum, to be the one who needed protecting.

“It’s like,” Martin pulled away from Tim’s shoulder, “After everything, I can’t even rest. It still isn’t over. And I know it’s not exactly the end of the world, but Jon’s  _ missing _ and my mum has gotten worse, she… I know she doesn’t mean it, I know she loves me, but  _ Christ _ it’s been difficult.”

Tim didn’t know what to say. He ran a hand through Martin’s hair, gently just. Holding him. 

“It’s gonna be OK, Marto,” he muttered. “Things suck right now. Honestly, I don’t think Jon has the  _ capacity _ to murder a guy, and if he did, he’d have good reason, alright? And as for your mum, ah, I’m sorry to hear that. That’s… I can’t say I really know what’s going on, honestly, but I just hope things get a little better for you.”

Martin pulled away, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Yeah. Thanks, Tim. Means a lot.”

“Of course,” Tim said. He looked over to the bong, about to take another hit, when something stopped him.

He looked down at his fingertips to find traces of silver spiderwebs, each pulling his fingers in different directions, all away from the glass piece.

Tim narrowed his eyes, but after a second, whatever he’d seen vanished.

Martin switched on another flick, and the night went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> martin: *gets high*  
> martin:  
> martin: *cries*
> 
> also if you haven't yet, follow me on tumblr @goldenholdencaulfield ! i have a song up on spotify abt jonmartin too, heres the link:  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/0aX29Avj4xPbqcjmSgGajP?si=d4_4wHeCScmZTsUUSdJLhg


	6. August, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Suicidal thoughts (vis a vis the Unknowing and Tim's reaction to it.) Fairly graphic depictions of those thoughts. I would honestly go as far as saying "suicide attempt." Be careful loves, read at your own discretion <3

As everybody knows, the best way to go out was with a bang.

Also as everybody knows, it’s really  _ great _ for one’s mental health to hide in tunnels, avoid all of your friends, and decide your death needs to be one that  _ matters, _ because nothing in life you’ve done has.

So, yeah. Timothy Stoker was a little suicidal. Sue him. It wasn’t like he had anything left. Sure, he had Martin as a friend, but Martin had Jon, anyway. And his parents weren’t really interested in talking to their shittier, stoner son, Tim was sure. And Sasha and Danny were dead. So. Who cared?

Who  _ fucking _ cared.

And, as he got into that van headed to the Wax Museum, he knew how today was going to end. 

Timothy Stoker intended to go out with a bang.

So, when things went to hell and he finally pushed the detonator, he was fully expecting that to be  _ it. _ For him to die, finally, and to just… let go. For everything to be over.

And maybe, just maybe, he forgot for a second about the several theories of afterlives. Hell, he’d been working in the archives so long he’d forgotten quite a lot of religious things, everything outside of Smirke’s Fourteen feeling fictional. Fabricated.

So, when he reopened his eyes, he felt a jolt in his heart.

His heart? Did he still have a heart?

He was sitting up, slowly, somewhere…

Where was he?

There was a lot of debris around. Mostly that. There were a few other things. Buildings, nearby. People? Were there people?

He was being pulled to his feet. Not by anyone in particular, but it was like by puppet strings. Gently getting him to his feet, brushing himself off. But it wasn’t  _ him _ doing it.

He was watching himself, almost. He was in his body, still, but had no control of it. Like a copilot, watching as the captain took over.

He walked himself for a while, heading. Somewhere? He wasn’t sure.

When he arrived at the hospital, Tim just heaved a sigh. Right. More supernatural bullshit, then. Damn. He couldn’t even  _ kill  _ himself.

He admitted himself, apparently, even though he was fighting tooth and nail to get out of there, to run for the hills. But he took his way up the stairs, guided by a nurse, towards the psychiatric section.

He knew, deep down, he wasn’t alive anymore. He knew he was filled with-- with spiderwebs. With bugs. But here he was, getting a second chance at things. Getting help.

Tim was under suicide watch for a while. He was released after about 3 months of that. It was… It wasn’t great, but it was enough to get him changing his thinking a little bit.

For starters, he needed to call his mum more.

And, as Jon was apparently knee-deep in a coma, it seemed like Martin was getting lonely, as well.

So...

Tim went back to the gym, no longer having a pain in his lungs. He wasn’t sure he  _ could _ feel pain anymore.

He started taking meds, something about severe depression leading to lashing out. Honestly, whatever. It wasn’t like he had a stomach to digest them, but they did seem to help.

He called his mum once a week.

Tim was sitting on the shitty couch in his flat when Martin came over, popping in some awful slasher flick, brewing tea, and talking excitedly about the Flesh. How Melanie and Basira valiantly saved the day. And just, how  _ excited _ he was to see Tim back, even if he wasn’t working at the Archives anymore.

And, hey. Apparently Elias was in prison, which, honestly, good riddance.

So, yeah. Tim was dead, then.

He didn’t quite  _ feel  _ as much as he did when he was human. He still had emotions, mind you, but number. Softer around the edges.

But seeing his friends smile. Working on himself. Seeking help. Starting exercising, starting therapy. It just…

Things were better. They weren’t quite  _ good _ yet, but… better.

His mind ran to Sasha, just for a moment, and he reminded himself that this is what she would’ve wanted for him. To move on, to be happy.

And she was right. It was what Danny would have wanted, too.

Tim quit smoking after that whole… thing. Even the smell was enough to bring him back, back to the explosions and the dolls. So, he didn’t. But he knows that even if he did, he’d be okay. Maybe, one day, he’ll be better to really get to enjoy it again. But, he wouldn’t rush it.

Jon spotted him flicking the lighter one day, some time after he and Martin moved in together. Jon gave him a sympathetic smile, holding up his own lighter of the web.

“Y’know, I quit smoking for five  _ years _ and this job brought me back to the habit.”

Tim gave a small smile. Solidarity.

And no matter what, things would be okay. He had people in his corner. He always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THANKS FOR READING ilysm ! follow me on tumblr @goldenholdencaulfield and find my jonmartin song here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/0aX29Avj4xPbqcjmSgGajP?si=PCWbcPc0T5yC2n96bBDdsQ
> 
> if you liked it drop a comment! if not, drop a comment! please i crave human interaction during these quarantine times


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